I's back from Outer Spaaaaaaace.
Okay so's it's been a long times. So wots Audley been up to ye asks. Well mostly I's been playin' Super Street Fighter 4 an' catchin' up wif T.V and movies oh an' smugglin' meself along wif Da Webster's on dere annual holiday. Lotsa catchin' up den.
First. Let's gets onta da music. 3 albums of note so far dis years. Da first one is Beach House's "Teen Dream". Now, dis kinda dream pop duo isn't da sorts o' fing dat I woulds normally tolerate let alone listen to, but since everyone seems ta be hypnotised by da evil marketin' forces dat has propelled Lady Blah Blah inta hyperfame, despite her soundin' like a really dull 80's has been (I'm finkin' like Taylor Dane an' da likes), Teen Dream is refreshing. Can't explains why I like it I just does.
Second is Big Echo by Mornin' Benders. Dis is a lusciously produced set of well constructed songs most of which ye can finds on youtubes. Da production is much better than the spastic Stock Aitken and Watermanesque nonsense currently saturatin' da charts fanks to Lady Bah Bah an' her stoopid rubbish an' ridiculous clothin'. I swear she dresses like some badly programmed replicant day-glo version of Marilyn Manson. So Big Echo is just a set of good songs by a good band, no posturin' or public relation ejaculate here. Checks it out.
Da last Album is Plastic Beach by Da Gorillaz. More of an ensemble effort dan da past two, it ain't as instantly as accessible but it's crafted well an' has some stand out guests like Mark E Smith-ah from Da Fall-ah an' da lovely voice of Yukimi Nagano of Little Dragon, not ta mention da Boss Dogg Snoop. It's often downbeat but anudder winner from da Cartoon Cadre who funnily enuff is still more realistic dan dat badly drawn, tone deaf madonnawannabe Lady Ha Ha, whom I doesn't like much.
Okays. Games. Well last we spaketh I was kickin' frough Mass Effect 2. Since den I's been playing a lots of SSF4 !!!Haadookin!!!!. Wot's a great game. Granted it's tuff an' I has a blister da size of da brain tumour dat is Max Clifford on me fumb, but slowly after monfs of trainin' I'm getting quite poor. Which is a huge leap from da level of utter total rubbish dat I was for da first monf. Dis is a classic version of a classic. Don'ts get much better simple fightin' games dan dis.
Also I just stole from Webster (an' completed) Alan Wake. From dis I noticed free fings. Da game is seemin'ly deeply influenced by Mars Volta, Stephen King, H.P. Lovecraft and Mark Z Danielewski's "House Of Leaves". It's good, but very short.
Which brings me to... House of Leaves. Which I picked up to reads while stowed away in da hold of a 747 to crash Da Webster's romantic holiday plans. I forgots dat I wasn't good at readin' so I escaped from me suitcase an' afta nearly depressurin' da plane, causin' at least two of da crew an' most of da passengers ta poo demselves climbed onta da seat next ta Webster (who wos watchin' da frightenin'ly predictable Shutter Island) and demanded he reads it to me. Which he attempted.
So basically House of Leaves is a long critique on a horror movie dat wos never mades, written by a blind man and edited by a liar an potential lunatic. Dis isn't me bein' sarcastic, dis is actually near to da actual plot. See dere's dis guy called Johnny Truant, he's a drug addled story teller wif mental issues who claims in da intoduction dat his pal Lude lives next door to dis weird old dude Zampano who dies, dey raid frough his stuff an' find a chest filled wif writin's pertainin' to Zampano's obsession wif a movie called Da Navidson Record. Johnny claims dat Zampano hads been workin' on a critique an' review of da Navidson Record which purports ta be a documentary 'bouts a fotojournalist who tries to save his marriage by buyin' a house for him an' his miserable wife an' weirdo kids an' to document demselves settlin' down radder dan him goin' off to war torn hellholes to snap deads and injureds. But da house has some problems. It is bigger inside dan it is outside. An soon we learn it is MUCH MUCH bigger inside dan outside.
Zampano, Johnny claims, mades all dis up. However we can't take Johnny's word for it. But den we can't even be sure dat Zampano mades it all up, since Johnny admits to his own editin' and additions to da project. So we is left wif da hokey unreliable narrator who plays wif codes an' acrostics while relatin' his own breakdown in da footnotes of da project he may or may not have mades up or altered which is a blind man's critique of a documentary dat was never mades.
Confused? Good! Now ignore all dat stuff unless ye is one of dem Mansons or somefin dat lissens ta albums backwards ta receives messages from Satan ta go an kill people. In essence wot we has here is an H.P Lovecraft story about a House which has extra-spatial dimensions inside which don't obeys da laws of physics an' a man who' becomes obssessed wif explorin' it. At dis level it's quite spooky an really it's da meat of da book. Da rest is just salad. Word salad! Da best metaphor for dis comes from da book itself. Navidson's kids are clearly freaked by dis weird house an' at skool draws dere home by making a big black square on a page surrounded by dragons an wolves an stuff. Da dragons an wolves is da rest of da stuff, a mere border over da main all encompassin' black horror of a house of darkness inside a normal home.
Webster says dere is a lot of middle brow clever cleverness imbedded in da style an' content of da book's massive footnotes and appendices, but who cares? It's not a bad spooky book.
So we gots to Dubai eventually to gets a transfer to da same Cthulhu worshippin' island as dey wents to last year! More on Dubai later.
Da Maldives is greats. Blazin' sun, world shatterin' funder and lightnin' storms, silence an peace an' lots of morons draggin' neotnatal children half way around da world, inflictin' everyone wif dere howlin' annoyances just so dey can gets a holiday at everyone elses expense. Now I is a selfish, so is da Websters, but we is not dat selfish da we feel entitled ta ruin udders holidays just so we can show off out useless spawns. Dese people is scum. Not only is it cruel to da brats (nots dat I cares much 'bouts dat) but it is dere horrible assumptions dat everybody has got to love dere filthy disease ridden whinin' offspring as much as dey do. Dere is lots of places dey coulds have went which is much more suitable for peoples wif children. Da place is meants ta be a romantic resort for couples an' nuffin' absolutely nuffin' is goin' to ruin romance like a bunch of screamin' sunburnt bored children. I hopes dat dey all end ups wif swine flu or plane crashes.
Apart from da brats, (some of which seemed ta be in dere mid 20's) dere was a lots of Northern English folks dere dis year dat seemed ta takes great pleasure in not only bein' miserable dullards, but felt it dere duty to make sure everybody else was havin' a good time by bein' as miserable as dem by bein' rude, complainin' drunk loudmouth fools. Da Webster said dis wasn't a surprise an' dat we should have been grateful dat dere wasn't more scottish folks ta join in wif dis Dostoeyvskian horrorshow. I began to hope Cthulhu would arise from da ocean an' eat dese halfwits.
Still, we hads a fairly good time. Dey was easy to avoid (cept for at noshtimes) an' we went snoopin' for fish wif snorkels, pestered some sharks and hassled a turtle or two, saw a gang of dolphins at play an' even gots lots of massages an' spa treatments which were FANTASTIC!!!!!!
We had to go backs to Dubai for a stop over since we was not waitin' in an airport for 26 hours. So Dubai... Dis is anudder Lovecraft reference (dough technically a historical one apparently). Has ye ever heards of Irem of da Pillars? A legendary city in da desert damned an swallowed by da sands? If not go wiki it. Anyway Dubai Airport is like dis. A gigantic, spotless, gleaming white pillared, air condistioned affront to Allah wif waterfalls, spensive restaurants, outrageous duty free malls an' all kinds of stuff dat would be considered offensive to da big desert djinn of da holy books. It's da most ostentatious fing I had ever seen. Well dat wos until we left da airport by a car so fancy it would have had da top gear morons diddlin' da exhaust pipe.
Da first fing ye notice is da almost physical heat attackin' ye. second fing ye notice is dat da city is like some science fiction idea come to life, a mega city outs in da middle of da Desert. Da sand obscured da horizon even more dan' da ludicrous grandoise skyscrapers did, of which dere is many. We stayed in a hotel were none of da mens would speak to me or da lady W, which was across da roads from "DA WURLDS BIGGEST MALL!!!" apparently. After gettin' a munch in a tiny bar wif a 40 foot ceilin' Lady Webster saids she wanted to 'vestigate. So we snuck out into da insane heats (I fink it was about 44-48c dependin' on who wos braggin') and went into dis place which was bizarre. Dere was so many shops an so many people from all nations and creeds (dough we did notice dat even dough it was an arab country da only women we saw dressed in burkies was from England.) dat after leavin' an island dat was actually smaller dan da shoppin' centre we was now in, it was quite disorienting. One of da shops sold burkies, which as ye may or may not know is meants to be an attempt to dress da ladies in modest clothin'. Dat would have been fine if it weren't for da fact dat some of dem was so flamboyently covered in gold leaf, sequins, glitter and da like dat even if dey hid every inch of flesh dey was less modest dan an naked Paris Hilton usin' a diamond dildo up her bums at a skool nativity play while sniffin cocaines off da donkey. Well maybe nots quite but dey was stoopid. Dey had a massive supermarket dat sold 4000 types of everyfin, ice cream parlours every 12 feet an electronics stores dat sold nuffin' but screens an' apple crap.
Horrible. Da whole city is a massive display of undeserved and poorly used wealf, a vast architectural and engineering marvel which is in essence nothing more than the biggest folly I has ever witnessed. One days Dubai will be da New Irem, da Desert Djinn is not a force one can holds at bay. I guess dey has never heard of Kanute. It mades my head spin like eatin 20 grams of magic mushrooms while spendin' a days on da waltzers.
I's back. Todays we shall has anudder Cakin' an' on Wednesday (probly) Da conlcusion of Canto four begins, da epic, "Da Wrongest Day".
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